


What The Water Gave Us

by lovedsammy



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, Canon Divergence, Carl Lives, Episode: s08e09 Honor, Episode: s08e10 The Lost and the Plunderers, Episode: s08e11 Dead or Alive Or, Fix-It, Gen, Immunity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 12:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13998369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovedsammy/pseuds/lovedsammy
Summary: This was the last possible thing that he’d expected. He had accepted it, had prepared himself, to die. He’d made his peace, had spent his final hours living life to the fullest and doing what he could to protect those he cared about. He’d written his goodbyes, let his father and Michonne know how much he’d loved them. He’d closed his eye against the morning sun and had been ready to meet the darkness. The fact that he hadn’t, the fact that he wasn’t… the thought had never even crossed his mind. He’d never even considered the possibility that he could survive the bite marring his skin, serving as the clock that would wind down his life.Until now.It had been over twenty four hours since he’d been bitten, and Carl Grimes was still breathing.Carl wasn’t one to believe in miracles, not really. He’d stopped believing in them a long time ago. But he would like to think of this as one.





	What The Water Gave Us

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by the game “The Last Of Us” because I would rather have an immune Carl than a dead Carl. 
> 
> This will follow the events of All Out War from the comics and TV series (as well as the Common Wealth storyline) but with a twist to it being Carl’s immunity, and thus of course a more “canon divergent” aspect to it. Carl will be around for the end of the war and beyond.
> 
> I tried to do a lot of research on this topic, because walker bites are almost always 100% fatal on the show, unless you were bitten in a place that could be amputated to stop the spread of infection. I’m not a doctor, not even a med student, so I have limited medical knowledge. I’m not going to pretend that this would be a foolproof way to prevent Carl’s death. I’ve read comments when this theory was going around about Carl’s possible immunity and how they wouldn’t have liked it due to not knowing the specifics of how it could’ve worked. I tried to address some of those things here, because I believe it could’ve worked had Gimple or anyone else allowed it to. 
> 
> I have three other fics that I’m working on that I should be finishing up instead, but this idea wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote it out. I don’t know how long this story will be. I’ll be waiting until the rest of season 8 finishes before I try and write more of it because I do want to stick to the show as much as possible, but just going on as if Carl were alive. I will be explaining the cause of Carl's immunity, and what that leads to, in later chapters. 
> 
> Also for this fic, Doctor Carson is alive, and made it back to the Hilltop. Father Gabriel was still recaptured, but at least he succeeded in his mission. So both Siddiq and Carson are the doctors there. 
> 
> I'd like to apologize in advance for any grammatical errors or odd formatting issues. I have no beta, so rereading this gets tiresome looking for errors.

It’s just past dawn when Carl starts to feel it, the weight of the iron from the gun in his hand, his touch featherlight against the trigger. He feels himself starting to fade, his mind becoming less and less clear. It would be time soon. But not yet. He isn’t ready yet. So he waits. He lies there on the dirty, shattered floor of the church with the smell of smoke and charred wood in his nostrils and thinks. Rather than of bitter regrets, like that he’d never really become an adult, or that his life was ending this way, he thinks of all that he’d managed to accomplish in the fifteen short years that he’d been alive. In a way, the Apocalypse had been an ironic sort of blessing, despite all that he’d lost with it - his mother, his home, his life from before. Despite those horrors, this new world had also brought him closer to his father, let him meet so many wonderful people, and gave him his little sister. It had made him into the man he was now, because he was no longer that little terrified boy sitting in the car with his mother and Shane the night they’d fled towards Atlanta. He’d managed to do so many things, had become a person that his mom and dad could be proud of, that he himself finally could. For the first - and last - time in his life, he was at peace with the person he’d turned into.

It’s a horribly slow process, dying. He could almost laugh. He’d always thought that his death would be quick and brutal, either from a walker tearing him apart or by getting his head bashed in by a bat-wielding lunatic like Negan. Or perhaps some other grizzly way down the line. He’d gotten the walker part right, in the end. But the bite that he’d received hadn’t taken much flesh, so he’d been able to go on almost as if nothing had ever happened. For that, he was grateful. He’d managed to say goodbye to most of his loved ones, would leave the world knowing that he’d helped to leave it better than he’d found it. His life had meant something, _would_ mean something. His father would honor his desire for peace, for ‘after,’ and the new generation of kids being born now would be able to grow up differently than he’d been forced to. They would never have to know the constant fear of the walking dead and hostile communities. Walkers would just be an inconvenience, considered the norm, and the people would be working together to rebuild civilization, to reconcile the last of humanity. There would be no more wars. Life could be almost like it was before, if not better this time around. Maybe humanity would finally learn from its past mistakes.

And maybe someday, someone smarter than him could find a cure, or at least a way for the virus to stop mutating, rejuvenating the world back to the way it once was. Perhaps it was a pipe dream, but as far as dying wishes went, it wasn’t exactly a bad one to have, he thinks.

He feels horrible. He feels sicker than he’s ever been in his life. His entire body is like a living furnace due to the intensity of the fever. His chest barely rises and falls with each painful breath, and yet it wills itself to expand in order to get more air into his lungs. There are still stray tears coming from his eye, and he makes no attempt to try and compose himself. There was no point. Because even with as peaceful as he felt about his life and where he’d ended up, he was still dying, and there was an unbearable sorrow that came with knowing that. He tries to cling to it, the image in his mind’s eye of the world as he’d envisioned it, thriving and peaceful, with his father able to smile again one day, despite the loss of him.

Lazily, Carl tilts his head a fraction to gaze out of the ruined doorway of the church. The man sitting just outside on the church steps is barely composed, his body hunched over and his head bowed. He’s waiting, just like Carl is, for the final gunshot that will end his son’s life. Carl can see Michonne standing near the entryway, her frame as stiff and rigid as though she were stone. She was trying so hard to be strong, the boy knew, just like he’d asked her to be.

He releases a shallow breath, the sound barely audible even to himself and glances back down to the gun in his hand. As soon as he squeezed the trigger, he’d be gone. It would be over. He’s starting to crave for that -- an ending. He’s almost ready. He’s waiting, but he doesn’t know what for, exactly. The pounding of his heart alerts him to the fact that he’s afraid, but that was something he already knew. It was human nature to try and defy death as long as possible, to be scared of it. He didn’t want to die, he wanted to live and watch Judith grow up, the little sister that would never remember him. He wanted to grow up more himself. He wanted to watch his father and Michonne become closer, perhaps have a child of their own some day. He wanted to see the birth of Maggie and Glenn’s baby. He wanted to see the very world he’d asked his father to create.

But he’d learned a long time ago that the world never gave you what you wanted. You had to take it. And he couldn’t take _this_ back - his life. He doesn’t regret it, saving Siddiq, not for one second. What he regrets is that he’s leaving his family so soon.    

It’s some time later, perhaps minutes, perhaps hours, that the first thought that something may not be right finally comes to him. By how high the sun had risen, it must have been longer than he’d thought. An hour or two, or even longer. He can hear the birds chirping. It was going to be warm day, but a comfortable one for this time of year. He can almost taste the sweet summer breeze on his tongue. It reminds him of Judith, and the sound of her laughter. He wishes he could hear it one more time. His attention shifts to the entryway again. His father and Michonne are still there, but at some point Michonne had come over to sit next to his dad. Her head is resting against Rick’s shoulder, and their bodies are still shaking with barely suppressed emotion. He wonders if they’re going to come back in soon, to check and make sure that he hasn’t died already and had just been too weak to go through with ending things himself. But more than that, he’s starting to realize that his mind isn’t as foggy as before, and his body isn’t as horribly hot inside as it was, either. He blinks, trying to understand. He still feels very, very sick, but not like he’s approaching death’s door. Something’s different… off.

“Dad….?” He croaks. It’s uttered so quietly that he may as well as have said nothing at all. But it must’ve been enough, because he’s barely finished moving his mouth before Rick’s face comes into view over his, staring at him with wide, tearful eyes.

“C-Carl...?”

Michonne’s there too now, lowering herself to her knees beside him. Her features are grimaced in pain, her lower lip quivering as she tries to reign in her emotions. “We’re here. We’re here, sweetheart,” She whispers.  

They don’t say anything else, they just look at him, silently asking him what he needs, what he wants them to do. Truthfully, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He should be dead already, but he isn’t. He feels sick enough, exhausted enough, weak enough, to know that he _should_ be.

“I don’t -” The boy blurts, trying to form some kind of coherent sentence. “I don’t know what’s…”

The terrified look that crosses his father’s face tells him that Rick thinks that Carl’s finally going, that he’s waited too long to end it himself and he’s dying naturally of the sickness. And maybe he was. He feels disconnected somehow. Maybe instead of getting better, the fever’s gotten worse and he’s delirious, thinking that his body’s recovering when this was just how it was supposed to go. This was just what dying felt like.

Choking back a sob, Rick reaches down to gently caress his son’s sweaty face, brushing his damp bangs from his eye. All it takes is the span of a second, and that’s when the boy suspects that maybe he’s not delirious after all. Because the way his father’s eyebrows furrow together, and the way he glances at Michonne in pure disbelief, alerts him to the fact that Rick’s realizing something is different this time around, too.

Michonne notices the shift in his father’s expression, and peers at him quizzically. “Rick? Rick, what’s…?”

Rick places his hand back over Carl’s forehead, and inhales sharply. He draws back again. “The fever… I think it’s… _Michonne,_  I think it’s _breaking_. Not by a lot, but...”

There’s so much weight to it, that one statement. Michonne’s eyes widen and she clasps one of Carl’s hands between hers. “How do you feel, Carl?” She asks softly, but urgently.

Carl has to think about it, and it’s hard to do through the haze. “I don’t know,” He rasps. “I don’t know. It’s still really bad, but… not like earlier. I thought that it was just how it - ” He looks back up at his father, trailing off with words that they both cannot say, don’t want to say. He’d thought he was dying. He’s still not completely sure that he isn’t.

“The medicine that...that Siddiq gave him,” Rick says hoarsely, “I wonder if it helped slow it down? Maybe… maybe it’s given him more time -”

But there’s no chance to discuss it any further. All of the activity from inside Alexandria the night before and what remained of the smoldering fires was attracting walkers. Carl could hear them outside, not too far off. After he’d lost his eye, he’d made up for it with an increase in his audible senses. It wouldn’t be long before they made their way to the church.

A few seconds later, Rick begins to hear them, too. “Oh, shit.” He turns to Michonne helplessly, flitting his gaze back and forth between her and Carl. “What do we…. what do we do?”

“Go,” Carl tells them. He may not know what was happening inside his own body, but it didn’t matter anymore. He’d be dead soon regardless of if the medicine was a factor in why he was holding on for as long as he was. “Just go. Leave me here. I can handle it myself. You need to get to Hilltop -”

“No, Carl, we’re not leaving you, _I’m_ not leaving you!” Rick assures his son at once. “That’s not an option. Look, we… we could take you with us, okay? If… if you…” His father chokes up again, and swipes at his eyes with his forefinger. “If you g-go on the way, one of us will do it. I promise. But we are not leaving you. Not here, not like this.”

Once again, things were not going how Carl had thought they would. He didn’t want the burden of putting him down to fall upon his dad and Michonne, he wanted to end it himself. He tries to plead with his father again.

“I’ll only slow you down,” He shakes his head. The action makes him dizzy. “And it’s like you said earlier, Dad. I won’t make that trip, and if I die and turn with you so close to me....” The snarling is growing closer, and Carl can see them starting to approach. At least six of them already. “Just go,” He tries again, exasperated. “Please, Dad, it’s what I want.”

Rick’s mouth is a thin line, wrestling with complying with his son’s wishes and his own intuition. He decides to go with the latter. “No. I’m not leaving you here to be torn apart, Carl. We’re going.” He nods to Michonne, and she returns the gesture. They don’t hesitate, heaving the sick boy up from off the floor as gently as they can, with one of his arms slung over each of their shoulders. Carl’s unsteady on his feet and sways automatically, almost bringing them down with him.

“This isn’t going to work,” He pants. He appreciates it, the fact that they’re trying to make his death as painless as possible, but it wouldn’t make a difference, not when their lives were at stake. His time was already up. They didn’t need to go down with him. “You need to leave me. Bringing me with you is just going to get you killed, too. You can’t defend yourselves and help me. Just hand me my gun, and I’ll - ”

Michonne suddenly ducks out from under Carl, and instead eases the boy completely towards Rick, reaching for her katana. “Then I’ll cover you both,” She says. “Get him to one of the cars we have left, Rick. I’ll come find you.”

She’s outside and slicing through walker skulls before either of them can protest, and so Carl does what he can, if just for them. He tries to walk on his own, but it’s too much. He’s still too weak, too sick, to move. “Dad, I can’t walk,” He means to make his voice steady, pragmatic, but it comes out in a whine, and he hates how childish it sounds.

Rick doesn’t even have to think about it. Despite how much older Carl was, despite how much bigger he was now compared to that day a few months ago when he’d been shot, the boy was never too big for him to carry. So he scoops up his frail son, almost throwing his back out but not caring, and jogs with him the rest of the way out of the church. Michonne does as she’d said - she covers them, taking out walkers when they get too close, redirects them from the fires. In the daylight, the destruction to Alexandria looks absolutely abhorrent. Carl’s stomach clenches in sorrow at the sight of it. The gazebo that he and Enid used to sit on the roof of is still aflame and the wood is burned black. There would be no salvaging it, even after the flames died down. The community was going to need a lot of repairs, a lot of rebuilding, to get back to what it once was.

They manage to find one of the trucks. Rick gently places Carl inside first, and waits while Michonne runs back to the house to get a few things, simple things - an extra bag of clothes for all of them, the photograph of Carl and Judith that they’d put on the living room shelf, and some food and water. As they drive off, Carl stares wistfully at the sign that had once meant refuge for him and his family, the only place he’d come to know of as home since before all of this had started: _Welcome to the Alexandria Safe Zone. Mercy for the lost. Vengeance for the plunderers._ In a quick-passing blur, it’s gone, and they’re off speeding down the road towards the Hilltop. Carl’s still pressed against his father’s chest, almost sitting in his lap, and any other time, he might have been embarrassed by such a thing. But right now it’s soothing, and Rick mindlessly brushes his fingers through Carl’s hair, just letting the boy lie against him. Michonne keeps her eyes on the rearview mirror almost as much as the road in front of her.

Carl’s exhausted. The lengthy drive relaxes him, and barely ten minutes into it, he has to fight against the fluttering of his eyelids. He doesn’t want to sleep. If he sleeps, he’ll never wake up again. His gun is back in the holster on his leg and he can’t reach it with how he’s positioned. He wouldn’t be able to take care of it now, and a part of him resents the fact that he hadn’t just done it when he’d had the chance.

He looks back up at his dad, who gives him a watery smile.

“You okay?”

The teen jerks his head in a weak nod. “I’m just so tired,” He sighs, and he hates the way tears instantly fall down his father’s cheeks, the way Rick’s breath hitches like he’s going to lose it at any second. Carl hates seeing his father like this, knowing that it’s because of him. He hopes that Judith and Michonne are enough to tether Rick to his sanity after he’s gone, that he can come back from this. Because he has to. Carl can’t let himself think of anything else.  

“Then you should try to sleep, Carl,” Rick says softly, but it’s broken, a farewell as much it is an attempt to soothe his son. “Try to sleep. I’ll…. we’ll both be here when you… when you wake up.”

Carl knows full well what the words mean. His father is giving him permission to go. The teen can’t help the wetness that forms at his eye at the words, the sob that works its way out from his throat.

“D’you promise?”

It’s such a childish question to ask, but he’s never felt more like a child than he does at this moment. He’s never needed his dad more than he does right now. All of the fight and bravery in him depletes. At the end of the day, he was just a dying fifteen year old boy who’d had to grow up too soon but never quite had the chance to be a kid.

“I promise, son. I promise.” Rick whispers, clasping the boy’s hand tightly. Michonne reaches over to join them, tangling three pairs of fingers together in a painful knot.

“We promise,” She corrects, and Carl’s incredibly proud that it comes out strong, forceful, and so very Michonne. It makes him feel slightly better. Their presence makes it easier. Maybe it was better this way after all. Maybe he didn’t have to be brave all the time. Maybe it was okay that it had ended up like this. This wasn’t the same as it had been for him and Mom - he’d been so young he’d had to do what he did. Maybe for them it would be easier, maybe they could handle doing this, finishing him, and maybe it was _supposed_ to be that way.

Maybe this was what he’d been waiting for all along.

He smiles just to let them know that it comforts him, even if he knows he won’t wake up again. This was it. He’d reached his final destination, and it was only the car that he was riding in that had miles and miles to go. He’s ready now, he thinks. Carl nods at them, lips still curved in a tiny smile, and slowly lets his eyelid flutter close. He allows himself to let go, just willing himself to slip away. He can hear his mother’s voice as plain as day, as if she were sitting right next to him, whispering in his ear. _Goodnight, love._ She’d always told him that, before he went to sleep at night. And now he was about to go to sleep for one last time. His features begin to lax as he falls into the peaceful slumber of what feels like death.

-

Carl was dead.

The words repeat themselves over and over in Maggie’s brain, incomprehensible, because she just couldn’t make sense of it. They were in a war. Losing people was something she’d had to expect, an inevitable reality. They weren’t going to go into this and not lose people that they loved. But the fact that it was Carl, the little boy she’d known almost since the start… it didn’t feel real. It felt impossible, like a horrible nightmare. She’d just seen the boy less than two days ago. He’d endured so much, had survived so much, things that most people couldn’t have. Most of all, it was _Carl._ Rick’s _son._  Carl had always been grappling with death, it seemed; that was how she’d met him. She’d never forget the image of Rick running towards her Daddy’s farm with his boy in his arms, barely clinging to life. But he’d survived, time and time again, he’d survived. He’d made it, through everything, and now death had won. It had taken Carl. It’d taken the boy who they’d all thought would survive it all, would outlive every last one of them. When Maggie thought of the future, that vision had always included Carl, along with Judith and her own child. Now… now, she doesn’t know what the future looks like, if there was one worth imagining at all. It terrifies her.

She comforts Enid as best she can, soothes the girl until her wails dissolve into hiccups. Maggie’s own cheeks are still damp, and she tries her best to hold it together. The imprisoned Saviors had already realized something had happened when Enid had collapsed to the ground with sobs wracking her small frame, and the sorrowful residents of Alexandria had entered inside. If she fell apart now too, it would be something they could use against her later, and she wouldn’t give them that chance. She was going to be strong, to be the leader that Hilltop deserved, even if her own grief felt like a gaping chasm that was going to open up and swallow her whole.

It feels like a dark cloud has settled over the Hilltop, although the petulant sun mocks their grief in its abundance of light. It had done the same for Glenn, too. The world had a way of laughing in your face while you loved and lost.

“S-Sorry..”

She’s pulled from her thoughts by a gentle voice, and turns to discover the man that had arrived along with the others earlier, the man that Carl had died saving. Siddiq, she thinks his name is. He appears nervous, holding a bowl of soup in his hands, and fidgets. “I just wanted to thank you,” He says. “For… for your hospitality.”

Just from her first impression of the man, she thinks Carl had it right in saving him. He was incredibly sweet. She could already tell that he would be a welcome addition to the community, to them. Her heart gives a painful stab as she looks at him, takes in his demeanor, sees the immense amount of guilt in his eyes, like he was afraid to look at her, at any of them. She knew that when Siddiq looked at them all that he saw was what the price of his safety had cost, and the misery it had induced. It had cost the life of a young boy, and the pain that losing him had wrought to all of those who’d loved him. But it wasn’t his fault, just as it hadn’t been Carl’s. She wishes that she could tell him that it would get easier, but that wasn’t something that she could bring herself to say. Survivor’s guilt had a way of getting under your skin, into your very innards, and implanting itself there. It was something she still carried with her, too.

“It’s not much,” She settles for instead, giving him a warm smile.

“You’re… you’re wrong. It’s everything,” He counters, and she almost reels back from the force of how genuine it is. In some ways, he reminds her of Glenn. And of Carl. He shares their optimism, their innate goodness. Something that many of them didn’t have anymore.

He continues, a bit less awkwardly, “Do you have… a hospital here? Some kind of infirmary?”

Maggie blinks. “Are you hurt?” She asks worriedly. He didn’t appear to have any injuries, or indicate that he was in any pain. The physical kind, anyway. But perhaps there was something that she’d missed, or that he’d neglected to mention.

He actually manages a tight smile, shaking his head. “I’m… I’m fine. I just… have some medical experience. Thought I could pitch in, and help.”

“In the trailers,” She nods. “Thank you.”

He returns it, smiling at her again before he walks away, and she watches him go. She hopes that in time, Siddiq can forgive himself. That one day, he would be able to accept that Carl hadn’t died regretting that he’d saved him. She thinks of the boy again, and her eyes water. Carl had gotten everyone in Alexandria to safety all on his own, and all while on his literal death bed. He’d grown into an incredibly brave and selfless young man. Lori would’ve been proud. And one day when she was old enough to hear how and why her brother had died, Judith would be, too. Maggie looks over at the little girl perched on Daryl’s lap. She’s laughing as he plays patty-cake with her, oblivious to the fact that she would never see her big brother again. Daryl hasn’t let go of her since they’d arrived, and Maggie suspects that he’s not going to any time soon. Besides Judith’s immediate family, they’d all been fiercely protective of her, but perhaps none of them more so than Daryl.

The woman sniffs again, and directs her attention to where Enid is mindlessly slumped against one of the trees. The girl's knees are drawn up to her chest, the rims of her eyes still red and puffy, and occasionally running her sleeve over her face. Maggie knew that Enid and Carl had gotten much closer during the duration of their time in Alexandria, just after Negan had killed Glenn and Abraham. A week ago, they’d held hands in front of everyone, and Maggie had directed a knowing look at Rick and Michonne behind the teenagers’ backs. When the kids got even closer, daringly entering one another’s personal space, Rick had openly gaped at them, shaking his head.

“I was wondering when they were going to start getting around to that,” He’d chuckled, coming to stand at Maggie’s side. “I’m really going to have to talk to Carl about this later, though, once the war’s over. He may not really be a kid anymore, but I’m still his father.”

Maggie had smiled, too. “He _is_ still a kid, Rick. They both are. Maybe not in this world, with everything they’ve had to do… it’s easy to forget. But in every way that counts, they are. We still need to treat them like it once in a while, before they get old enough that we really can’t anymore. We still have to teach them, especially now.”

“Yeah, I know.” Rick’s eyes had become brighter, the harsh lines of stress on his face lessening as he’d watched his son. Carl had been laughing at something Enid had said, the smile on the boy’s face practically contagious. “Sometimes when I look at him, I have to remind myself that he’s still the same kid. He’s had to grow up so fast, and I feel like… I feel like I’ve missed out on so much because there was always something else going on. Michonne had to point it out to me,” He’d nodded toward Carl and Enid, who were staring at each other so intensely that it had even managed to attract Jesus’s attention. “Lori… she would’ve had a heart attack if she were here, seeing Carl becoming so interested in girls. For me, it’s a relief. It means I did right by him somewhere.”

Maggie had frowned, grasping his arm reassuringly. “You’ve always done right by Carl, Rick. Don’t ever tell yourself you haven’t. He’s lasted so long because he had you. We’ve all lasted so long because we had you.”

Rick hadn’t said anything to that, just nodded in the way that she knew meant that he didn’t quite believe her. And Maggie had known then that it would become a conversation that they’d revisit on another day. 

 “Open the gate! It’s Rick!”

She snaps from her reverie as she hears Kahl shout from the guard post, and she feels like ice water has been dumped over her.

It would be a conversation that they’d never return to.

Instead, there was only going to be a much more painful one in it’s place.

Maggie tries to prepare herself, takes a deep breath before she goes to greet him. She remembers how Rick was after Lori, how lost he’d been, how unhinged. There had been a wild look in his eyes, and for a while, he’d even distanced himself off from Carl, leaving his traumatized son under the care of the others, and had ignored Judith entirely. Now, with Carl gone… there was no telling what kind of Rick she was going to be confronted with. She’s glad that Michonne is with him, glad that he has Judith, to pull him back from the edge. But it may not be enough, not for this. She has not even had her child yet, but she can still comprehend the magnitude of the pain Rick must be feeling right now. The pain of losing a child was immeasurable. There was nothing greater. Carl had been the sole fuel for Rick’s continued existence for so long… without him, what was left of the man?

She readies herself to see Rick in any possible condition, no matter how broken and aggrieved he is, as she reaches the threshold. But the Rick that comes through her gates is not broken, not yet, and it shocks her. But nothing shocks her more than the sight of him carrying Carl in his arms - alive. Or at least, somewhere near it. She can tell by the way his eyelid twitches, the slow rise and fall of his chest. Michonne follows in after them, coming to stand beside Rick.    

“Maggie,” Rick gasps weakly, and Daryl and Carol are the first to rush over, along with Enid. They all look as thunderstruck as she feels. And whereas she’s lost for words, they’re far from it.

“Rick, _what_ -”

“Oh my god, _Carl!_ ”

“What the hell happened? What’s…”

“Alexandria’s done,” Rick explains quickly, addressing all of them. “Walkers…. walkers got in. And… and I couldn’t just leave - we couldn’t just leave him. He’s still… he’s still holding on, but I don’t know how much time he…” He trails off as Carl moans a little in his sleep, but he doesn’t stir. “I.. we… just wanted to get him here…”

Having heard the commotion, Siddiq comes out of one of the trailers, and promptly drops the bottle of pills that he’d been holding. He looks like he’s about to fall over. “C-Carl…?” He whispers, stunned. “He’s… he’s still -?”

Rick stares at the man, as if truly seeing him for the first time. He’s got the same amount of gratitude in his eyes as when Maggie’s father had saved Carl’s life back at the farm. “What you gave him… I don’t know what it did, but I think… I think it’s helped to give him more time…”

“Then let’s get him upstairs, and hurry.” Maggie replies, turning to Siddiq. “We’ll get some IV fluids going. He survived the whole trip here. The least we can do is make him comfortable. Maybe Carson will have some ideas, too, to make it easier for him. He doesn’t have to be in any pain.”

Gregory snorts derisively from over in his corner with the imprisoned Saviors. “Are you serious? What are you doing, Margaret? You’re wasting our resources, our medicine, on a kid that’s already as good as dead -”

Maggie storms up to him at the same time Rick makes a move like he would do the same, had he not been holding Carl. “I’d shut up if I were you,” She snarls. “I swear, Gregory, one more word, and I’ll cut off your food rations all together.”

Feeling everyone’s glares on him, Gregory for once has the good sense to keep his mouth shut.

They get halfway through the courtyard before Rick groans, struggling to maintain Carl’s weight.  

“Here, let me take ‘im…” Daryl insists, coming in front of Rick and gathering Carl’s unconscious body into his arms. The kid is somewhat lighter than expected, but still heavy enough that carrying him makes Daryl’s back groan in protest. He takes a moment to take in Carl’s appearance. He’s still incredibly pale, and he can feel the heat of the fever coming off of him in waves. But Carl was still managing to fight the infection in his body tooth and nail. He’d somehow lasted all the way here. “You are one strong ass kid, you know that?” He tells the sleeping boy, and resists the urge to smile.

Even facing death, this damn kid was a force of nature.

Maggie ushers them to one of the guest rooms once they enter Barrington house, and Enid automatically gets to work on collecting blankets and pillows for Carl. The distraught girl from earlier might never have existed at all. She’s mission-oriented and intuitive, placing Carl’s hat at his bedside table.

“For when he wakes up,” She explains to Maggie. “He’s strong enough that he made the whole trip here. I have to believe that he’s strong enough to wake up one more time so that I can say goodbye. I want him to know that it and Judith are safe.”

-

The first thought that comes to him is that he feels like he’s floating. The second is how strange it is that he’s able to think, to perceive at all, and how that makes no sense because he’s dead. But, Carl reasons, perhaps this is what the coming back part feels like, the reanimation. Any second now, it would all be over for good this time. His dad or Michonne would put him down, and then --

His single eye snaps open and he finds himself staring up at a dark oak ceiling. With wakefulness, his senses come back to him. He’s thinking, and feeling, and seeing. He hears the exhale of his own breath, the sound of his heartbeat, and becomes overwhelmed by the mere reality of his existence. He’s alive. He’s alive, and the softness that he’d felt was from the plush mattress that he’s currently lying on.

He’s alive, but he was just _dead,_ and -  

He bolts upright before he even registers that he’s moved, eye darting wildly around the room.

“Carl? Carl, it’s okay, calm down. I’m here. I’m here, son.”

His gaze lands on his father’s concerned face, on the hand he’s raised to calm the boy down, and he becomes aware of his panicked breathing. His chest constricts. He tries to take in air, but it's like his lungs have closed up. He reaches for his throat, gasping, and hears what sounds like a machine beeping wildly, followed by an “oh, shit” and someone running out of the room. His vision swims, everything is out of focus. He was truly dying now. He'd woke up, just to die. What an ironic, cruel thing fate was, how - 

The door barges open again, with more yelling and more panicked voices, and then someone’s hands are on his chest, speaking to him, trying to calm him down, telling him to just “breathe.” He’s scared, he doesn’t know what’s happening, only that he’s dying, and he tries to speak, to tell them so they can put him down, but nothing comes out of his mouth. Something dark is shoved over his face finally and the voice again tells him to just “breathe.”

_Just breathe. It’ll all be okay. Just breathe._

So he does.

He inhales, going in as deep as he can and back out, even though he feels like he’s suffocating. He repeats the process a few more times. It makes his lungs ache. And then the pressure starts to dwindle, and he can breathe again. He’s still not dead. He’s still here. The cover over his face, a small brown paper bag, is finally pulled away, and the cool air that fills his lungs is immediately soothing. The vice around his chest lessens. His sight returns to normal, and he’s able to take in his surroundings.

His father, Michonne, Enid and Maggie are all there, along with Siddiq and a man that he doesn’t recognize. His sluggish brain tells him that it must be Doctor Carson.

He looks back to his dad, licking his dry lips. God, he was so thirsty. “Dad… what… what happened?”

“You fell asleep before we got here, you remember?” Rick asks his son slowly, cautiously. Carl nods. “We made it to Hilltop, Carl. This is Doctor Carson. He and Siddiq have been taking care of you since we got here.”

Doctor Carson smiles at him. “Hi there, Carl. You certainly gave us a fright just now, but I bet that was even scarier for you, huh?”

Carl can only manage a tight nod. He looks at Maggie and Enid, barely registering that they’re there, in front of him. He never thought that he'd see them again. He takes in how red Enid’s eyes are and he feels a pang of guilt. She smiles adoringly at him, reaching out to take his hand. He clasps it between his own, using his thumb to try and soothe her, to stop hers from shaking. “How long have I been asleep?” He asks the room at large.  

It’s Carson who answers him. “Quite a while. It’s around three in the afternoon.”

Carl’s eye widens, and he shakes his head as if to clear it. That didn't make any sense. “But…” He glances down at his exposed torso, at the bite decorating his skin. It still had a yellow-ish tint to it, but it was not as red and bloody as before. The teeth marks have started to fade slightly. “It’s been over a day,” He tells Doctor Carson. “So… so how am I not…?”

“Well, see, that’s what I was wondering too,” The doctor informs him, taking a seat near the edge of his bed. “When I first looked at it, I thought that you might last another couple of hours if you were lucky. You were in horrible shape, and I’m frankly surprised you had even managed to make the trip here. Honestly, I thought it was odd that you hadn't passed already. We know how quickly this works. So seeing how bad off you were, I didn’t think you’d make it past mid-morning, but then those hours came and went. You were bit yesterday morning, right?”

Carl glances at Siddiq for confirmation, who replies for him. “Yeah. Yes. It was probably just past ten-thirty.”

“Then it’s been almost a day and a half now.” The doctor explains. “I’ve never heard of anything like this before. You’ve got all of the symptoms of the typical bite. I thought at first that maybe the progression was just moving much slower than normal. But that doesn’t seem to be the case at all.” He pauses to let Carl absorb this information. “In fact, from what we can tell, it seems to be doing the exact opposite. The bite itself is starting to show signs of healing, instead of signs of infection.”

Rick’s head snaps up at that. “What exactly does that mean?”

Carson smiles. “Something akin to a miracle, perhaps. Rick…I think your boy may be immune.”

Everyone exchanges shocked glances, and Rick asks weakly. “What… what does that mean? Immune… immune to what…?”

Doctor Carson shakes his head, although the smile doesn’t leave his face. “I can’t give you a detailed answer due to the fact that I don’t have the necessary equipment here. I doubt anywhere does anymore. The best I can give you is this: he’s still got the virus, all of us do. When he dies, he’s still going to turn just like the rest of us. Normally with the bites, it causes the infection. The fever, blood loss or a combination of the two are what kills you. But his body seems to be continuously combating the infection rather than succumbing to it. Think of it like any other infection. Antigens, antibodies, pathogens. For some people, exposure to a specific pathogen will cause them to become exempt from getting it. In Carl’s case, he’s suffering from all of the symptoms of the infection, like the fever, but it’s not burning him out like it normally would.”

“A fever is typically the body’s response to trying to get rid of the invading bacteria,” Siddiq interjects. At Rick's curious expression, he continues. “Along with the sepsis, infection in the blood, it’s what kills someone who’s bitten. The medicine that I gave him was only to help reduce the fever, and to help him keep some clarity. The anti-inflammatories would only make it easier, not necessarily slow it down...”

Carson nods in confirmation. “Right, yes. Any type of over the counter medication wouldn't cause this. The infections from the bite compromise the immune system, and make it so that even a cold could kill someone who’s been bitten by a walker. In Carl’s case, his immune system is weakened, but it’s still trying to fight the offending bacteria. The infections make him run a high fever, high enough that it could cause potential brain damage and that’s something I’ll need to check for as well. With that high a fever, the body can sometimes shut down to prevent damage, which is why a person will pass out if it gets too high. So if he's immune to the infection that causes death, then perhaps if I get him some strong IV antibiotics, there is a chance - don’t get your hopes up, but there is a _chance_  - that it could help him. He may need surgery around the infected tissue, too, and some more tests to check for sepsis, but this very well could be the start of something.”

Just like that, the mood of the entire room shifts.

For a long, long moment, Rick gapes at Carson, takes in the weight of what he's being told, hardly daring to believe it. And then it hits him. His knees buckle from under him, and Michonne and Daryl quickly catch him before he collapses, sitting him down in one of the chairs. Seconds later, and Rick's face is in his hands with loud, hysterical sobs wracking his body. Daryl turns away, his hair shielding his face, but Carl can see his shoulders trembling. There are rivets of tears running down Michonne’s cheeks, and she wraps her arms around Rick’s upper body, holding him close, attempting to console him.

Maggie's back is turned, and she's gripping onto the back of one of the leather chairs so hard that Carl thinks she might break it. Enid is holding his hand so tightly now that it's started to go numb, and her face is screwed up with emotion. After a few moments of tearful silence, Rick seems to collect himself first, and looks back up with eyes that look a little lighter, a little more hopeful. His eyes never leave Carl. 

“Do it,” He whispers. “Anything that might work, anything at all that might save my boy… do it. Please.”

Doctor Carson nods, looking to Carl. “Do you want me to try, Carl? It's your life. Your call.”

His mind is clearer than it'd been in hours, and yet the boy still feels like he's in a haze, a dream too good to be true. So Carl meets the man's patient gaze and can only nod dumbly. This was the last possible thing that he’d expected. He had accepted it, had prepared himself, to die. He’d made his peace, had spent his final hours living life to the fullest and doing what he could to protect those he cared about. He’d written his goodbyes, let his father and Michonne know how much he’d loved them. He’d closed his eye against the morning sun and had been ready to meet the darkness. The fact that he hadn’t, the fact that he wasn’t… the thought had never even crossed his mind. He’d never even considered the possibility that he could survive the bite marring his skin, serving as the clock that would wind down his life.

Until now.

It had been over twenty four hours since he’d been bitten, and Carl Grimes was still breathing.

Carl wasn’t one to believe in miracles, not really. He’d stopped believing in them a long time ago. But he would like to think of this as one.


End file.
